


Viens

by bettervillains



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol, Control, F/F, Light BDSM, Questionable French, an excuse for me to write smut tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-09-11 22:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9036236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettervillains/pseuds/bettervillains
Summary: When Jude bumps into a short, smooth stranger on her birthday, she shrugs it off as just another drunken encounter that'll never pay off — until the woman's occupation, control artist, piques her interest...





	1. Un

**Author's Note:**

> This past NaNoWriMo, I set out to work on a handful of short stories, each around ten thousand words. _Viens_ was the first of the set, and ended up taking most of the month, clocking in around 20k and totally gripping my attention.
> 
> I can't say the writing is as floral or poetic as my other works on here, but the plot was fun, a wild ride influenced by notes from my friends and my burning desire to "fix" (as I often do) a fucked up story from contemporary media (in this case, 50 Shades's obsession with giving up control and inner goddesses, etc.), the characters an exploration into some different mindsets than my own.
> 
> I hope you enjoy _Viens_ as my holiday gift from me to you, and here's to the new year. 
> 
> — M

The clerks at Hansen's had, over the course of the last hour, learned to not interfere with the trio of women all but monopolizing one large, full length mirror at the back of the store. 

On the tufted ottomans, heaps of shirts and skirts fluttered in the breeze of the overzealous air conditioning, with dozens of dresses and delicately tailored slacks piled high and threatening to spill to the floor. 

It seemed the sort of scene that begged for a helping hand, but when a clerk had stepped forward to assist he was waved away by a blonde in a pair of sunglasses large enough to eclipse the sun itself.

"Ma’am, I —” the clerk began, but when the sunglasses came off he froze, lips parted, words dying in his throat. 

"Not ma'am, friend. Amelia," the woman insisted with a smirk, "Amelia Hansen-Porter."

The clerk chose that moment to wisely discover a stunning new talent for sinking back into the racks of clothes and vanishing from sight.

"That's better," Amelia chuckled, tucking her sunglasses into her shirt, "Any luck, Pen?"

Penelope shrugged. "I still think we should go leather."

"We're not selling a car, we're..." Amelia chewed over her thought, jaw tensing and releasing, until at last she settled on, "Opening a storefront."

Penelope raised a brow. The woman had a talent for looking entirely incredulous on a dime, in a way that usually sent her opponents sprinting for the hills. 

“So nothing but a big satin bow, then? And we just, what, hope someone comes along with some oversized scissors?”

Amelia cocked a brow, opened her mouth to reply, but quickly reconsidered when the storefront in question emerged from the dressing room.

The green dress was all wrong, a neon color that made the woman look like she'd been dipped in some slime green shade of reflective paint and left to dry. She twirled a strand of rogue red hair around a fingertip, frowned, then glanced up at her friends. 

"Well?"

Penelope and Amelia looked between them. Amelia's teeth sunk into her lip, and Penelope coughed. 

The redhead winced. "Jesus, that bad?"

"Why don't we go back to the —"

"Penelope James," Amelia hissed, "If you say leather _one more time_ , I swear to god —"

"Why not? I mean, dress for the locale, right?"

"Miss Woodward?"

All three women halted, turning. The clerk Amelia had frightened off earlier was standing timidly a few feet away, arms crossed tightly behind his back. 

"Jude," the redhead insisted.

"You have a call. A Mrs. Woodward?"

Jude sighed. Penelope reached forward, squeezing her shoulder.

"I can —" Penelope began, but Jude waved her away. 

 

After following the clerk through the racks of clothes to the front counter and taking a moment to steel herself and a soft sigh, she took the offered (obnoxiously pretentious antique) phone and lifted the receiver to her ear.

"Mom?"

"Judith, darling, I can't believe you didn't call me."

Jude rolled her eyes. 

"It's kinda a thing for it to be the other way around — since it's, you know, my —"

"Birthday, yes, that's why I'm calling."

The mountain of a matriarch never let her get a full sentence out. One of a dozen pet peeves for a daughter who had long since learned to cut herself off in advance. 

Jude stifled a huff. "Well, thanks, it's very sweet of you to —"

"Sweet?" 

Jude could almost see her, clear as day, perched on the counter, a long cigarette in a pencil thin holder between her fingers, some Hepburn-esque dress clinging to her lithe frame. Sarabelle Woodward was the type of woman that one always assumed was in costume, until she opened her mouth — that, or assumed she was Jude's sister. 

That part didn't bother Jude as much as the woman's insistence upon clarifying just how young she'd been when she'd, as she so indelicately put it, "got stuck and got stuck". Folks always laughed, and Jude always ordered another drink (a double, on the double). 

"It's not meant to be sweet, darling. You're thirty now, and it's time to stop futzing around with those friends of yours and find yourself someone to settle down with. Someone to support you, make sure you'll be looked after when I've gone on to that great sauna in the ground."

Jude snorted. "Resigned yourself to hell?"

"Better parking, I'm sure. Now, I'd be happy to set you up with Mortimer's son, that tall strapping one, oh, what's he do again...?"

"Who, Derek?" Jude blanched. "Mom, he's an exotic game hunter, and besides, I —"

"So? You've got to eat. He's nice enough. And —" Mrs. Woodward paused for appalled effect, "Oh, Judith, don't tell me — you haven't gone and become one of those... those vegans, have you?"

"Thanks for calling, mom," Jude huffed, trying and failing to maintain any semblance of a patient tone, "But I gotta run."

She hung up the phone with a loud clatter before the woman could manage another half-gasped darling. After a breath to collect herself, she turned to the racks of clothes again, and began weaving her way back. 

 

Amelia and Penelope's conversation stopped short just as Jude came within earshot. 

"It's alright," she mumbled, "Let it out."

After a long pause, Amelia’s jaw tightened, released, and finally —

"It's just that —" Amelia began, but Penelope shushed her.

"Not our place.”

"What, to call her what she is? The Tower of Terror may have shut down, but boy is its legacy alive and well today."

Jude snickered, and Amelia grinned.

"Got her to smile. Five bucks."

"I never agreed to that," Penelope hissed, then cleared her throat, "Listen, Jude, it's just a club. Just an outfit. You should wear whatever you're comfortable in."

"But it's all Amelia's friends, I don't want to emb—"

Amelia waved her hand, dismissing the idea like a cloud of smoke (which never stood a chance in the first place up against such an indomitable heir).

"It’s your party, Jude. Besides, they'll all be too goddamn drunk out of their minds to notice. We're there for fun, not a photoshoot — I mean, getting laid is just a bonus. Now, I really think —"

And then Amelia was gone, weaving back into the dressing room, her voice carrying dimly from behind the thick velvet curtain. 

"Somebody should get laid," Jude mumbled, "Lord knows I won't."

Penelope found her hand, squeezed it gently. 

"Try to not... let that be your focus, you know? It'll happens when it happens, and it'll just... I don't know, suck all the fun out of things if you try too hard to… to focus on finding someone else on a night meant for you."

Jude shrugged. "Well sure, but... kisses are nice."

"Kisses are nice," Penelope agreed, "But dancing is fun, too, and drinks, and —"

"And Amelia," Jude cut in, nodding, "And you."

Penelope smiled, broadly, a grin that could take down toxic masculinity and the pink tax on the worst Wednesday morning, and still have time to understudy the sun. 

It was enough to make Jude smile, too. 

Amelia emerged with a pile of clothes. "Put these on. I think it's the best match."

"But we'll concede to your decision on the matter," Penelope countered, her voice slipping into a deeper register that had Amelia holding up both hands in concession.

"Yeah, yeah, of course, but — hey, just a pro tip, a little guidance never hurt anyone."

Jude took the heap of clothes from Amelia and wandered back into the dressing room, tugging the curtain shut behind her. It dimmed the viola music from the shop, the hushed discussions of her friends, even the distant phone ringing, probably, in notification of her mother calling _again_ … and she was left, at last, alone with herself. 

She stripped off the dress, banished it to the floor in all its fluorescent, inglorious greenery. For a moment, the light overhead caught the pallor of her skin in such a way that she almost looked like some alabaster statue from an ancient empire long deceased... and not like the skinny, freckle dusted twig she saw more often than not in herself. 

Jude sighed, and reached for the blouse Amelia had picked out for her. Twig was fitting — disjointed offshoot, snapped off the main tree, just barely thriving. Life was an endless blend of stress, work at the publishing house and half-hearted, half-heated frozen dinners — Penelope tried to convince her to get a cat, even, once or twice, but the responsibility over another living creature posed more problems than it solved, offered more stress than it would relieve... 

But tonight, at the very least, would be all about her, she reminded herself softly, under her breath, a fact which was somehow a source of consolation and trepidation all at once.

The outfit consisted of a rosy pink blouse that draped over her torso and a pair of long, dark slacks that met her low shoes in a delicately lacy hem. She emerged from the dressing room with an apprehensive smile. 

"Well?" 

Penelope and Amelia exchanged a glance. Jude shifted her weight.

Amelia grinned, hands sliding over her hips, eyes flicking over to Penelope’s.

"Alright, Penny Dreadful — final verdict?"

Penelope smiled, a golden ray cutting through the swath of whatever apprehension remained.

"Let's party." 

 

The club, a thumping, swirling mass of sweat and scotch, was aptly named _Viens Ici_. 

“Really?” Penelope scoffed.

Amelia smirked. "And I usually do." 

"Amelia!" Penelope hissed, swatting at her arm. 

But Jude only laughed, drifting through the crowd towards the bar. A few heads turned, she noticed with some delight, and she returned the looks with small smiles, still anchored down by that insufferable timidity — the liquor would handle that. 

"What'll you have?" Penelope shouted over the music. 

"Vodka soda," Jude shouted back, "And lots of it!" 

The music thumped on in agreement, some curious blend of French hip hop and American R&B that had the trio dancing at the heart of the crowd in minutes, a heart-racing, shift-twisting bliss of sound and sweat that left Jude dizzy, breathless.

After an hour or so, she broke away from the group, waving that they should stay on, before pressing her way through the crowd to seek out the refuge of an empty booth in one corner of the pounding, swirling room, pinching the bridge of her nose —

“ _Boisson?_ “

Jude looked up — or, rather, out. The stranger stood only two-thirds of her height, a substantial distance that left them eye to eye only because of Jude's half sprawled slumped seated position on the booth’s vinyl bench. Through the smoky haze that swirled between them, Jude was vaguely aware of a midnight blue carnation tucked in the buttonhole of a dark blazer, all over a simple crew neck shirt. 

"Huh?"

"Water," said the carnation, "I think — _oui_. That might be best." 

Moments later, a glass was pressed into Jude's hand, and she raised it discreetly to her nose before chancing a sip. 

"No foul play," said the stranger, a dizzying smile shimmering from impossibly chiseled teeth, "No feathers here."

Jude laughed. "Touché."

"Ah, so you speak a little French, then." 

Jude snorted. "I think English has claimed that one." 

Her comment was met with a shrug. Jude stuck out her hand. 

"Jude. It's my birthday." 

"Happy birthday," the woman replied, shaking her hand firmly. "Helène Secours." 

"Do you dance?"

"Now and then," Helène replied, smiling, "In my own certain way." 

"Well, now I gotta see it." 

"For the birthday girl," Helène replied, charm practically floating between them on another swirl of smoky air and straight into Jude's stomach, warm and wrenched and releasing as Helène offered her hand and helped her to her feet, "Anything." 

They found a patch of unclaimed land near the center of the dance floor. Amelia and Penelope were, to Jude's surprise, nowhere to be found. 

"You're looking for someone."

Jude lowered her eyes to meet her partner’s, slipped her hand to tangle their fingers. 

"Never mind," said Jude, "They'll find me if they want me." 

"And in the meantime..." Helène's hips swung close, before darting away again to the coarse rhythm of the pulsing music. 

Jude swallowed. In the meantime, she'd do the wanting. 

 

It felt like hours before the dry scratch in Jude's throat begged for another drink. She wracked her brain, the four vodka sodas settling into her memory, making the world around her spin as she squinted, and any recollection of her introduction to Helène a distant, fuzzy blur —

“ _Poisson?_ “ she shouted, at last, over the roar of the crowd packed in around them. 

A few of them were even too close for comfort, Jude noted as Helène nudged off a body to lean in close to her. Jude bent down so Helène could reach her ear, trying and failing to ignore the tickle of the woman's breath across her neck, the husk of her voice in her ear as she replied,

"What?"

"A drink — do you, uh," Jude mimed a glass at her lips, and Helène grinned broadly, then laughed. The sound sent a chill coiling up the back of Jude's spine. 

"You said fish!"

"What?"

"Fish!" Helène laughed, "But I'd have a whiskey!"

Jude nodded, struggling to will away the flush in her cheeks that had spread down into her chest, and began to weave her way through the crowd towards the bar.

For a moment, she thought she felt Helène's eyes still on her, but when she turned to look, something caught her on the back of her head, and the world went black. 

 

She woke in the parking lot, roused from some smoky haze of a dream and into a throbbing headache, her head in Penelope's lap, stretched out in the back of Amelia's car. The car was moving —

"Wait," Jude muttered, "Wait, I — I met someone, and I... didn't —"

"Shh," Penelope murmured, running her fingers through her hair, "We're taking you home, Jude, you got clocked kind of hard."

Jude's eyelids fluttered — the touch, gentle and steady, was settling her into a cozy comfort — and she found her eyes drifting shut again.


	2. Deux

The rosy-fingered rays of mid-morning filtered through the loosely bound blinds, nudging Jude awake. She yawned, almost expecting to find Penelope there, but it was only Amelia in the room, sitting in the wingback chair that took up one corner, casually filing her nails. The blanket and pillow in her lap implied she’d sat there all night. 

"What the hell happened last night?" 

"Barback caught you in the head with a case," Amelia mused, "Penny checked you out, said you should be fine, so we brought you back here to sleep. Still wanted to keep an eye on you, though." 

"You're a good roommate." 

"I'm a _great_ roommate," Amelia corrected her, "And you don't even know why." 

"Hm?" Jude stretched, rubbing her eyes. "Enlighten me." 

"Hèlene Secours," Amelia said with a smirk, "Happens to be a friend of mine." 

Jude dropped her hands, straightening up immediately. A few rays pierced through the blinds, glaring into her eyes. She winced, rubbing her forehead, then fixed Amelia with a look that said one thing intensely clearly: _explain._

"We met at a party for the wealthy and the bored. Not sure if she's wealthy, but she sure was bored. Conversation took an... interesting turn." 

"Interesting?” That could only mean one thing. 

"No, not sex. Not... well, not entirely." Amelia the dust curling in the beam of light emitting from the window. "Anyway, she wanted me to give you her number." 

"What? When, then?" 

"No, no, last night. When we were leaving... she left me this to give to you." 

Amelia crossed the room in her trademark saunter, extending two fingers with a business card clasped between them. The front was simple, a tangle of gold and red lines on a navy background, shimmering in the sunlight. Jude took it, flipped it over to read the contact side:

HELÈNE O. SECOURS  
CONTROL ARTIST  
(xxx)-xxx-xxxx

"Control artist?" 

Amelia shrugged. "Well, that's one way of putting it." 

Jude tilted her head. Amelia stroked her chin, started and stopped several times, soundless, then sighed, and ran a hand through her hair. 

"She ties people up for a living," Amelia explained, then added, almost dismissively, "Nothing sexual. Just knocks them around a bit, you know, whatever they want." 

Jude's forehead creased, confused, curious. "Ties... what?" 

"You know," Amelia crossed her hands over her chest, tugged at them. "For kicks? I'll be honest, I'm not totally sure how it all works. We didn't talk about it all that much." 

"People do that?" 

Amelia gave her a look. Jude backtracked, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

"Okay, no, I know people do that... but like, in movies and stuff, on TV... I just didn't think I'd... meet anyone who was..." 

"What? On the other end of the whip?" Amelia grinned, tongue caught between her teeth, only to then snap her wrist with an accompanying cracking sound. 

Jude rolled her eyes. "You're horrible." 

Amelia laughed as Jude tucked the card under a coaster on her nightstand. If Amelia thought it strange, she said nothing, choosing instead to tug Jude out of bed and push her towards the bathroom. 

"Are we doing brunch, or what?" 

"Sure thing," Jude replied, "So long as you're buying."

 "Fine, fine. Get washed up, and we'll get some eggs benedict, or —" 

"Pancakes," Jude insisted, "All the pancakes and bacon humanly possible." 

"There she is," Amelia replied with a grin, "Now get." 

 

In the shower, with a riptide of steamy water flooding her skin, down her flushed cheeks, Jude actively fought to not think about Helène. At brunch, as Amelia rambled on about the latest trend in imitation lace, she let a few memories from the night before slip through: Helène's smile, the arch of her brow, the sharp cut of her jaw... 

By the time they’d gotten home again, with Amelia insistent upon taking a long hot bath and the many mimosas dulling some of Jude's inner voice of reason (read: inhibitions), she reached for the business card, flopped back on her bed with her phone, and began to dial. 

After a moment's hesitation, she opened a text message instead. 

//Hey. 

She cursed at herself silently, then added: 

//It's Jude. 

For an interminably long moment that stretched into a minute, then five, then ten, Jude waited. She set her phone on her nightstand, rolling her eyes at herself 

“Stupid,” she muttered, just as her phone, finally, buzzed. She snatched it up — 

\\\Hello, Jude.  
 \\\I wasn't sure I'd hear from you. 

Jude exhaled softly, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. 

//I find that hard to believe.   
\\\Oh?   
//Yeah. You seemed to have a pretty good read on me last night.  
\\\We were speaking the same language. For the most part.  
\\\Until you offered me a fish instead of a drink. 

Jude bit her lip, considered for a moment, then began typing again — 

//About that.  
 //I never did get you that whiskey. How about tonight?  
//With me?   
//Somewhere quieter? 

Jude's teeth sunk harder into her lip as she waited, another minute, then two, in an unforeseeable agony until, at last, her phone buzzed, the text bubbling into life — 

\\\Just the two of us? 

Jude grinned, broadly. 

//Yeah. Just the two of us. 

Another long pause, then — 

\\\I thought I'd have to be the one to ask.  
\\\Francine's, at Ninth and LaReine, eight o'clock.  
//See you then. 

 

Francine's was far more of a black tie affair than Jude had expected — she tugged at the hem of her dress, carelessly worn over casual grey leggings instead of tights, in stark contrast with the lace bound hostesses sauntering around the restaurant. Jude was shown to a table, and she sat to wait, but just as she was settling into her seat — 

"Punctual." 

Jude looked up. Helène smiled at her, the curve of her lips a perfect, tautly drawn bow. A faint tint broiled in Jude's cheeks which only deepened when Helène leaned in and placed a soft kiss on each one. 

"Enchantée, I’m sure," Helène murmured. 

"Likewise," Jude replied as Helène made her way to the seat opposite. "So formal." 

"Wasn't much time for formalities last night, was there?" 

Before Jude could reply, Helène lifted her arm to flag down a passing waitress. 

“ _Bonsoir,_ “ said the waitress. "What can I get for you?" 

"Sazerac for me," Helène replied, smiling up at the waitress, who nodded, hands folded behind her back. 

"And for you?" 

Jude gnawed on her cheek, fidgeting. 

"Uh, white wine, please. Sweetest you've got." 

The waitress nodded and disappeared into the swirl of patrons making their way languidly through the restaurant. 

"So," said Helène, leaning across the table, "You made it home okay?" 

"Yeah. Penelope, my friend, the taller one, and Amelia —" 

"I know Amelia." 

Jude blinked. "Right, yeah, right she said she... that you two talked about... well, talked at a dinner... thing, or —" 

"About?" 

"Um," Jude bit her lip. "Well, we don’t have... to, uh... nevermind." 

"Ah, ah, ah," Helène insisted, "None of that. No need to worry about tainting my ears." 

She leaned forward, a conspiratorial smile twirling the corner of her mouth. As if drawn by the pull of some inexplicable gravity, Jude felt herself leaning in, too. 

"I've heard worse,” Helène continued, wryly, “ _Croyez-moi._ ” 

Jude hesitated, considering, and was just about to speak when the waitress returned, setting down a glass of smoky bronze liquor in front of Helène, and a glass of pale wine before Jude. 

"Cheers," Helène announced, lifting her glass to clink, "To new acquaintances." 

Jude drank, deeply, setting the glass down again only when half of it had slipped down the column of her throat, warming her stomach. 

"Now," Helène continued, "Do tell what terrible things Amelia had to say about me." 

"Nothing terrible. Just... a little about what you do." 

"I'm a photographer, sometimes, and a traveler, sometimes," Helène paused, taking another sip of her drink. "But I sense you mean something else entirely." 

"Those aren't on your card, are they?" 

Helène inclined her jaw, running her thumb along the curve of her chin. "No. They're not." 

"Control artist." 

"Yes." 

"What does that... mean, exactly?" 

"It means," and for the first time since they'd met, Jude watched as Helène struggled for words, forehead furrowing and releasing, "It means sometimes people come to me to... lay low, for a while. Set down a burden, or..." 

Her voice trailed off. Jude raised a brow. “In English?” 

Helène shrugged. "It's hard to explain. In any language. That desire to... relinquish. But you see it, sometimes, in little acts, day to day things... and some know how they would like to manifest it further. It's those people who take advantage of the fact that people like me exist, people who... fill the void left by the intensities of everyday life." 

"Intensities?" 

"Work, home, recreation... it requires choice. Choice can cause an immense amount of stress, unbearably so, for some. When you let someone else choose for you, it can be... liberating." 

Jude fidgeted, took another long drink. 

"Have I made you uncomfortable?" 

Jude met her eyes. A patient amusement swirled in the eddies of Helène’s irises. 

"I... no. It makes sense I just... don't see how that could really... of course, it's not in me to judge, everyone has their... things, that they're into, I have my own... things, and, well..." 

"Do you now," said Helène, lacing her fingers together and resting her chin. "I do."   
"Do tell." 

Jude shifted in her seat, quickly finishing off the remainder of her wine. 

"I hike." 

"That's not unusual. Plenty of people hike. Tell me something..." Helène seemed to chew her thoughts over somewhere in the back of her mind before continuing, “ _Comment dit-on... clandestinité?"_

"Clan..." Jude squinted. "Clandestine? What, secret?" 

“ _Oui_ , secret. But something more than just secret, something... entirely yours." 

As Jude considered an answer, the waitress returned. 

"Another Chardonnay?" 

"No, thank you, I'll — I'll have what she's having," Jude said quickly. 

Helène smiled as the waitress, jaw tensing, nodded and reached for the empty wine glass. As if to rise to some unspoken challenge, Helène drained her drink, eyes on Jude the entire time, and set the empty glass back down on the table. 

“ _Merci,_ ” murmured Helène to the waitress as she removed their glasses and made her way towards the bar. Helène turned her focus to Jude once again. "You were saying?" 

"Hm?" 

"Something secret. Something you enjoy that's only yours." 

"Right. Uh," she chewed her lip. "I don't really know." 

Helène laughed, leaning back in her seat. "Would it help if I went first?" 

Jude felt the flush rise in her cheeks. "You already admitted to... doing whatever it is you do with... whoever it is you do it with so... I don't really... know what —" 

"I knit," Helène interrupted, quietly, leaning forward. "I'm not all that skilled at it, but I'm getting better. My friends make fun of me, call me _grandmère,_ tell me I'm going to be old and wrinkly in the blink of an eye." 

"Doubtful," Jude breathed, eyes flicking over the curve of Helène's jaw, somehow sharp and soft all at once, down along the creamy expanse of her throat, to the shoulder pressing through her white button-down, a pack of tightly drawn muscle, now relaxed, which promised youth, or at the very least an intense upkeep of a body put through its paces often enough to make such exercise worth it. 

Helène smiled. "You're very kind." 

"I'm honest," Jude replied, firmly, "And you know it." 

"As you say," Helène replied, a charming lilt lingering at the outskirts of her voice, almost teasing. 

After a long moment, Jude finally leaned forward, almost close enough to feel Helène’s breath on her lips. 

"I play with fire," Jude murmured, "Whenever I can. Candle flames, or — last week I got to get rid of phonebooks at work, and I — I just took them back behind the building and I burned them, I —" 

"Is it the heat?" Helène asked, quietly, "Or the light, or..." 

Jude shrugged. She hadn’t considered that before. 

"Both? All of it. The movement, the fact that it is there and isn't, that it's a thing without being anything, that it consumes when it's... nothing, really, just a reaction, just the mix of two things exploding into life, just combustion, just..." 

The waitress returned with the two Sazeracs. Both women straightened, and Helène lifted her glass to toast. 

"To what fuels our fire," she murmured, voice velvety smooth and deliciously deep. 

Jude clinked her glass, waiting until Helène took a drink to reply, casually, under her breath, "And young-ass people knitting like grannies." 

The sight of Helène choking on the drink made her laugh harder than anything in a long time.


	3. Troix

It was a few days before Jude heard from Helène again. 

The text came while she was wrapping up the longest day of her life at work, halfway through a meltdown in the blessedly single serve bathroom, her back against the wall, trying to ignore any thoughts of how unsanitary it was to be this close to a bathroom floor in a relatively well occupied building while attempting to stifle the deep staggered gasps of her breath, loosening a button on her shirt, then another —

The buzz of her phone snapped her out of the maelstrom, if only for a moment.

\\\Salut.

Jude drew in a shallow, bubble wrapped breath. 

//Hi.  
\\\How are you?  
//Uh.  
//To be honest? Not fantastic.  
\\\No?  
//Kind of  
//Kind of freaking out right now.  
\\\Would you like to talk about it?

Jude let her head slip back against the wall with a thud, heart pounding, desperately struggling for some control...

//No.  
//No, I...   
//I really don't I really just... just want to not  
//Have to do anything right now.

For a long moment, one that might have intimidated her if her heart wasn't racing from the sheer pressure of another wave of anxiety, Helène said nothing. Then —

\\\Do you know the Demimonde?

Jude drew in a breath. She did know it, from some graduation dinner, or maybe it was prom… a long time ago, back before she was working herself to the bone just to stay afloat in an unforgiving city. 

Another thought of the immense amount of work still before her sent another wave shuddering through her spine, her fingers trembling as she typed in reply —

//Off of Cordell?  
\\\I'll be in Room 727 from 7:30 on, if you want to come by.

Jude blinked, shocked, waiting, as Helène added —

\\\No pressure.

Jude exhaled (how long had she been holding her breath?), and wiped an errant tear or two off her cheek with the heel of her hand. 

 

Within half an hour, she was standing in front of the hotel, staring up at the crimson awning, it's gold lettering, embroidered into the rich fabric. 

"Can I help you, miss?" 

Jude turned her attention to the approaching bellhop, a slender thing with perfectly coiffed eyebrows, a crisp, smoothly pressed uniform in deep red, and a winning smile. 

"I, uh... I'm meeting someone. Upstairs."

The young man smiled broadly, and Jude almost thought he might wink at her. She silently prayed he wouldn't, and someone must have been listening.

"Allow me to show you to the elevator," he replied, with a slight bow.

Jude nodded, stepping over the threshold as the bellhop held the door for her. The entire lobby seemed to shimmer with crystalline light, a gargantuan place with high, arched ceilings trimmed in gold and baroque shades of prussian blue and titanium white. It felt warm, somehow, inviting and alluring and mysterious all at once... 

Exactly the sort of place Jude expected a woman like Helène to invite her to.

The elevators were a bank of four at one end of the pristine marble floor of the lobby, and true to his word the bellhop led Jude all the way, even going so far as to press the call button for her.

"And here we are," he said, eyes sparkling. 

Jude nodded, reaching into her purse for her wallet to tip the man. He waved his hand, dismissive, tsking softly.

"My pleasure," he insisted, "Enjoy the rest of your evening."

The doors chimed, and Jude stepped inside, thumbing the button emblazoned with a large seven. The light behind it burst into light, like the strike of a match, and Jude focused on it, letting it settle her breath as the realization that she was meeting an almost stranger at a hotel for maybe things she wasn't ready for began to sink in, but the light was golden, like fire, like heat and hearth, like the ripple of a corona across the surface of the sun —

The elevator slid to a stop, the doors opening with a chime, and Jude steeled herself with a breath, and stepped out onto the floor. It didn't take long to reach the room, a subtle plaque just below eye level reading 727, but it did take her almost a full two minutes to work up the nerve to knock. At last, her knuckles rapped against the smoothly lacquered wood, and within seconds, Helène opened the door.

The woman looked somehow regal, despite standing just short of Jude's shoulders, in a white button down and a jacket, a pair of black slacks hanging loosely off her hips, a pair of dark grey slippers on her feet. If she'd put any effort into her appearance, it didn't show, in the best of ways, a laissez-faire attitude as evident in her appearance as it was in her eyes.

"Jude," Helène murmured, smiling. “ _Bonsoir._ It's good to see you."

Something in Jude's chest drew up into a tight clump of muscle and stress, and released only when Helène took her by the arm and led her inside. She found herself being sat on the edge of the bed, a large four poster affair, as Helène made her way over to the granite counter lining the corner of the room. 

"Can I fix you a drink?"

"Water."

"Neat?"

"Ice, please, if you have it."

Helène poured her a glass, brought it over to her. Jude reached out, but her hands trembled to such a degree that Helène abandoned the glass altogether, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her, taking Jude's hands in hers, as if to quell the trembling with the sheer force of her will, the touch of her broad hands to Jude's lithe fingers — 

"What did you come here for?"

Jude swallowed. Helène's voice was soft, shrouded in that husky tint of an accent, like smoke, like the sweat of good work, or good heat, or —

"You invited me."

"I told you that you could come, if you wanted. If you needed to."

"I needed to," Jude shook her head, corrected herself, "Do need to. Be here."

"Just be?"

Jude opened her mouth, and found herself at a loss for words. Helène touched her hand, fingers trailing gently over her knuckles, waiting. 

"I just... for a little while, I don't want to have to decide anything." She faltered. "That's... that's what you do, right?"

Helène nodded. "To varying degrees."

"I can't relax, when I'm left to my own devices, I... I don't need anything weird, or any, like, pain, or anything, I — I just need to be..."

"Anchored," Helène murmured, "Certain. At rest."

"Yes," Jude breathed, sighing it out as if her soul, "Yes, exactly."

"Do you trust me?"

Jude lifted her gaze, meeting Helène's eyes. The woman's brow was creased with concern, but her eyes held no sign of wavering resolve, no insecurity... Jude hungered to know what such a self-sufficient soul felt like, if only by proxy, if she couldn't hold that same court within the cavernous halls of her own mind, breast, body — 

Jude nodded. Somehow, it was true. Somehow, despite having only known her a few days, talked to her but a handful of times, it was true. 

Helène stood. Jude looked up at her, eyes wide, as something in Helène's stance shifted. She seemed to grow a full foot taller, broad shouldered and dark eyed.

"This is not a frightening thing, Jude,” she began, her voice deeper, somehow, or at the very least more vast, “It is not painful or manipulative, jealous or vindictive. It is a game, nothing more, one we play as both opponents and partners, entirely for enjoyment, for amusement. Do you understand?"

Jude nodded, slowly.

"Answer me." Her voice was sterner, now, not quite scolding, but firm, resolved…

Jude suppressed a shiver. "Yes, I understand."

"As with any game, there are rules," Helène continued. "And these are mine. We begin with the words 'game on'."

"Game on?"

"Yes. I say it to you, you repeat it back to me, and that is where we begin. From there on, it is I who dictates the state of the game and its activities. For you to regain control again, you would say 'game off'."

"At any time?"

"At any time. For any reason. We stop, immediately, with those two words."

Jude bit her lip. There was a chill lingering in her spine, snaking into her stomach, thudding through her chest. They lingered, in silence, for a long, deep breath, until...

"Show me," said Jude at last.

Helène blinked, and the mask she’d worn the last few minutes shifted, almost fell away entirely. Jude realized, with awe, that she'd caught her off guard.

"We should discuss boundaries, first, Jude, there's an entire list of —"

Jude shook her head. "I trust you. Just... just this once, at least, just for tonight, before any of that, please, just... take it off my shoulders. All of it."

Helène looked apprehensive, until Jude took her hand, squeezing it. Her face softened, almost affectionately, at that.

"Please," murmured Jude, "Show me."

Helène bit the inside of her cheek, a motion which shifted her jaw, throwing her entire expression off, somehow, tilted, even.  

"Game on?" Helène asked, but there was no hesitation in her voice, only the firm resolve that Jude had come to identify with every syllable of the woman's name.

After a breath, Jude replied, "Game on."

For a moment, Helène didn't move, didn't speak, barely breathed, even. Then, an almost visible change came over her. Her back straightened, jaw setting into a poker face to rival all of Monaco's finest. A sensation Jude would later identify as sheer thrill shot through her, from stomach to lungs: 

 

Helène O. Secours was ready to work.

 

Jude watched on, as Helène removed her jacket.

"Take off your shirt," said Helène, voice clear and firm, "And lay down."

Jude blinked, and opened her mouth to argue, then thought better of it, and reached for the hem. Just before she tugged it over her head, she turned her back — though she needn't have bothered, as the woman had moved down the hallway to the bathroom in a few short strides, and was rustling around in some cabinet or other. What exactly Helène was looking for, she couldn't begin to guess, and another pulse of anticipation (some good, some nervous) curled in the pit of her stomach. 

She laid her shirt neatly on the small loveseat opposite the bed. Helène hadn't specified whether or not she should take off her bra, too, or even whether she should lie on her back, and at this point she wasn't sure if she was meant to ask. She opted for the path of least discomfort, stretching out on her stomach, the strip of fabric and wire bound around her chest a last barrier against the cool air of the hotel room.

It was heaven in a mattress, that bed, the duvet and pillows almost sinfully soft, smooth and silky under her fingertips as she spread her hands wide, sighing. The soft approach of Helène's footsteps across the padded floor drew her focus, and she lifted her head to look. 

Helène tsked.

"Head down," she corrected, "Eyes closed."

Jude let her cheek relax against the pillow, exhaling deeply as she let her eyes drift shut. When Helène's hands made contact with the pack of stress-bound muscle encamped between the bony peaks of Jude's shoulder blades, she realized why the woman had disappeared into the bathroom. 

Her hands were slick, the scent of coconut and juniper wafting through the air as her fingertips pressed and dragged, loosening whatever resistance they found with firm touches, knowing just when to bend to the limits of Jude's body, and when to push her just the tiniest bit past them. 

"Fuck," Jude breathed, as the flat of Helène's hand pressed against the small of her back, allowing it to pop and fizzle, bicarbonate stress at last dissolving away.

"Mm," Helène murmured, "Just relax."

How could she do anything but? Jude couldn't remember what had gotten her so worked up before, and the more she tried, the less she was able to focus on the warmth of Helène's hands kneading her shoulders, stroking down along the back of her neck, around the sore, tense column of her spine...

She let the thoughts of work drift from her mind, the daily irritations, the hopelessly inane responses and interruptions of her coworkers. _They_ hadn't been invited into Helène’s hotel, into her room, her bed — only Jude held that honor, at least for tonight, and she wasn't about to waste it.

"Now," said Helène, softly, and when exactly her lips had found their way that close to Jude's ear she couldn't say — but there they were, a lush, warm breeze of a breath, inquiring, "How would you like a bath?"

 

"A bath? Really? She like... what, offered to wash your back?"

Jude kicked at Penelope, who gestured with the nail file.

"If you want me to do this right, don't move."

Jude crossed her arms with a frown, settling her feet in the other woman's lap again, and allowing her gaze to drift over the nearby railing, to the view of the sea. The balcony at Penelope's apartment held (arguably) one of the best views in the city, what with the coastline visible from not far off — on a quiet evening, one could even detect the distant roar and crash of the waves as they lapped against the shore. 

"And if you want me to finish the story," Jude huffed, "Don't make fun."

"I'm just..." Penelope tossed a bundle of dark wiry curls over her shoulder, setting the nail file aside and selecting a bottle of off-white polish. "I’m not meaning to, you know that. Just trying to understand.”

She chewed over an unspoken thought, visibly. Jude frowned.

“What?”

Penelope returned her eyes to her feet, filing away at a stubborn edge.

“Did,” Penelope began, then continued, as casually as she could, “Did you two, you know, have sex?”

"What?" Jude's voice cracked, slightly, and she coughed, "What, no, nothing like that. No, she just... I don't know, it sounds weird saying it now but in the moment it was..."

“Hold still,” Penelope chided, hand gripping her ankle.

“It was… liberating.”

“Liberating? To be restrained?”

Jude shook her head. “She didn’t… do anything like that. It wasn’t at all what I was expecting, I’ll tell you.”

“Then what _did_ she do,” sighed Penelope, “You keep almost telling me and then not quite getting through it, beginning and trailing off before…”

She allowed her voice to trail off for effect, a smug smile spreading across her features. Jude rolled her eyes, settling back into her chair with a sigh.

“She told me what to do,” said Jude, quietly, “And I did it.”

Penelope’s eyes pressed for details, but she said nothing, turning her gaze downwards, swiping the lacquer laden brush across each of Jude’s toenails in turn. 

“Simple things,” Jude continued, “Lay down, close your eyes — that’s when she massaged my shoulders and back and stuff — and then she drew me a bath and made me some tea and I…”

Jude swallowed. She had fallen asleep in a cashmere robe, curled up in the crook of Helène’s arm as some program crooned quietly from the television — her eyes drifted shut as she remembered Helène’s fingers, stroking gently through her hair — 

“Jude?”

Jude’s eyes snapped open.

“Huh?”

“I said I’m done with your toes,” Penelope murmured, eyebrow raised. “You were back in that hotel room, just now, weren’t you?”

Jude fought off a blush, rather unsuccessfully, and shrugged.

“Are you going to go back?”

Jude hesitated. 

“I’m not sure.” It was a lie, and she knew it. Quietly, she added, “Maybe.”

Penelope slid the sandals over Jude’s feet, patting an ankle.

“Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Of course,” Jude replied, quickly, firmly, “I always am.”

Too careful, she didn’t add aloud, but it was true. She was too careful, too cautious to feel anything, to experience anything new. 

Was. Past tense. And now?

Helène would be the exception she would allow herself to indulge in. 

 

“And you didn’t have sex? Really?” Amelia leaned forward, as if being any closer to her companion at the bar would encourage honesty. “Like, really?”

Helène’s lips twitched, the corner of her mouth tugging, but otherwise she remained stone faced. Amelia leaned back in her seat again. 

“Well, then,” Amelia sighed, “Can’t win ‘em all.”

Helène hummed softly, lifting her glass to her lips, as if that were answer or argument enough. 

“Are you going to see her again?”

“Perhaps,” Helène replied.

“And that’s all you’re going to tell me, isn’t it?”

Helène smiled. Amelia rolled her eyes, huffed.

“Such a tease.”


	4. Quatre

Jude was halfway through a report due in less than an hour when her phone vibrated on her desk. She flicked through her email, yawning — until she saw the sender. Her mouth clamped shut, leaning forward quickly in her seat, the wheels of her desk chair clattering.

It was from Helène. The subject line read _“J. W. — Survey”_ and nothing else.

Jude glanced around, looking for any stragglers who may be passing by her desk. Satisfied that she was alone, she turned her attention to her phone again.

It was a list, with various columns (strongly in favor, in favor, neutral, against, strongly against) and boxes in each to tick. She scrolled through it, eyes widening.

It was a list of… activities. Things she’d read about, seen in movies, some things she’d secretly wondered about, some she couldn’t imagine, or had never even heard of…

She swallowed. At the bottom of the survey was a message:

_Fill out and return. All answers confidential. — Helène_

Jude shut her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose… she was the kind to decide, impulsively, sometimes to her own detriment, what course of action she would take, and then follow through. Within the next few moments, she knew —

Yes, there was no turning back now, no turning her back on Helène, or whatever the woman might be able to give her. She couldn’t live the rest of her life not knowing.

She went through the list quickly, ticking a few boxes as _god, no, never,_ feeling a warm tingling sensation in her stomach as she considered others as _yes, possibly…_ she giggled when the survey asked about _allergies and general aversions,_ noting dust and pollen, then sending the email in reply before she could second guess herself.

The reply came almost twenty minutes later, when she had all but returned to her work mindset, and she glanced down at her phone...

_Merci. See you at 7:00. — Helène_

Jude smiled, biting her lip. If she was being honest, she was looking forward to it, too. 

Possibly too much. 

 

The rest of the day passed in a haze of daydreams and spreadsheets, calculating numbers and attempting to predict what might happen in a bedroom with Helène, cool, confident, collected Helène, who seemed to fear nothing, when Jude feared almost everything. 

She didn’t notice the time until she glanced up at her computer to log off — _7:15._

“Oh, fucking hell —” she hissed, berating herself as she quickly scooped her belongings into her purse and sprinted from her desk to the elevator in a few long strides. When the elevator dallied too long, she took the stairs down two at a time.

The taxi to the hotel was, in its own way, unbearable. She tapped her foot the entire time, watching the minutes tick by on her phone, until finally she was running through the lobby, across to the elevator, waiting the excruciatingly long wait up to the seventh floor. 

Jude scurried down the hall, quickly, flats of her shoes thudding against the carpeted hallway floor, desperate to reach Helène’s room as quickly as humanly possible. She was already late by… God, so long, something like twenty, twenty-five minutes…

She knocked, leaning against the doorframe for support, breathing hard. When Helène opened the door, her expression was soft, kind, and Jude relaxed. 

_“Bonsoir.”_

_“Yeah, bonsoir,”_ Jude panted. 

“Shall we catch your breath, or are you ready?”

Jude shook her head as she stepped inside. 

“No, no, I’m good — game on?”

“Game on.” Helène reached around her to shut the door. “You’re late.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I —”

_“Tais-toi.”_

Helène’s hand found the small of her back, ushering her further into the room, over to the bed again. Jude bit her lip. 

“You’re late, and I was left to wait for nearly half an hour. What am I to do about that?”

Jude’s cheeks felt hot, and when she lifted her hand to touch, to soothe, Helène tapped at her wrist — not quite a slap, but hard enough to cause her to halt the movement, hands drifting down along her sides.  

“I’ve apologized already.”

Helène raised a brow, turning her towards the bed, knees bumping against the edge.

“Actions speak louder. Bend.”

Jude bent at the waist, and Helène’s hand pressed on her back until she was splayed out on the bed, legs half bent awkwardly. Helène’s hand trailed up the back of one of her thighs, under the hem of her skirt. In a motion as swift as it was nonchalant, she flicked the skirt up until it lay draped over the small of Jude’s back.

“Five strokes, I think, seems fair,” said Helène, casually, “Don’t you think?”

“Stro —” Jude’s head tilted, brow furrowed, eyes widening as she realized, “— oh.”

“Don't you think?” Helène repeated, fingers trailing over the base of her spine. 

It was an exposing position, one Jude hadn’t ever anticipated being in before — but even that wasn’t exactly true; she’d pictured it, briefly, when the words describing it in the blandest way possible cropped up on Helène’s survey.

_Neutral,_ she’d marked it. _Willing to try._

Jude bit her lip, before replying, softly, “Yes, ma’am.”

It wasn't something they'd talked about, what to call her in the heat of the moment, but it felt… fitting, at the very least, the smallest reminder of who was in control, though not superior. Helène had always been clear about that, in all their conversations — they were equals, engaged in a chess match, and Jude realized, slowly, as she felt Helène physically respond to such an address (a sharp breath, stiff fingers), that the game was for her enjoyment, too. 

Suddenly, Jude had a whole new appreciation for it, and a hunger to perform well. They would play their parts, yes, and forget the world for a while. 

Jude shifted her weight, braced herself… but Helène waited until she had relaxed again to administer the first lick of punishment. It was a rough smack, not as hard as Jude believed the woman could manage, but hard enough to make her jump, for a short hiss to escape through clenched teeth. 

By the third slap, Jude was thankful that her underthings stood between her skin and the palm of Helène’s hand, and the fourth seemed much more bearable at the acknowledgment that it could be worse. The fifth landed on the back of her thigh, against her bare skin, so well timed and executed that she was forced to suppress a small moan that threatened to escape her lips.

_“Cinq,”_ Helène murmured, “You may sit up now.”

Jude obliged, slowly, gingerly sitting back, wondering just how red her skin must be. Evidently, from the way Helène was smiling down at her as if at a meal to be devoured, the flush blooming in her cheeks and throat was primed to match. Helène ran her fingertips down the full length of her jaw, and Jude lifted her chin, pale column of her throat now exposed, her eyes drifting shut. 

“Next time, you’ll let me know if you’re going to be late?”

“Of course,” Jude replied, softly.

“Good girl,” Helène murmured in reply, a small smile drifting across her lips. “Lay back.”

Jude stretched out, toes curling from inside her shoes. As if she could sense it, Helène shucked the flats off, one after the other, and ran her fingertips over her ankles.

“Comfortable?”

Jude nodded. “Very.”

“Well,” replied Helène, a wry smile setting off a dark gleam in her eye, “You’re meant to be apologizing, and here you are lounged in my bed.”

Jude straightened her back, sucking in a breath.

“I’m sorry.”

“Hm,” Helène mused, “Not sure if I believe that.”

Helène moved around the bed, stroking over Jude’s right arm, from wrist to shoulder. She bent down, slowly mounting the bed to kneel over Jude’s stomach, before taking Jude’s hands in hers and lifting them over Jude’s head to grip the headboard.

“I am,” murmured Jude, insisting, but her voice left her when she felt something slip over one wrist, then the other.

With a tug of two straps, the leather pulled taut, and a few clasps and clatters later, the cuffs were securing her to the headboard with delicate, unassuming ease.

Jude tested the strength with a tug and flex of her arms. She had a little leeway to move, but not much — swallowing, she glanced up at Helène, but the woman was already moving, climbing down off the bed and crossing towards a coffee pot on the counter. She poured herself a cup and turned to face her, taking a sip, observing the sight of Jude stretched out on the bed. 

Jude had never felt more naked. She arched, almost imperceptibly, legs rubbing ever so slightly together. 

Helène licked her lips, and took another sip before crossing the room again and stretching out next to Jude. 

“Now,” she murmured, “Let’s see how still you can be, _choux.”_

She set the cup and saucer on the flat of Jude’s stomach, low enough that her breath wouldn’t quite disturb it, though a shift of her legs or a tug of her arms might. She tested her breathing, learning the limits of how much she could jostle the cup before it threatened to spill entirely, and, comfortable that she knew the margins, relaxed back, enjoying the tug of the cuffs at her wrist, the feeling of Helène’s eyes on her.

Helène reached for the remote, turned on the television, and shifted so that she lay in the crook of Jude’s arm. Jude glanced down, chuckled, then froze as the cup trembled.

“Careful,” Helène reminded her, “This is meant to be your apology.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jude replied, cocky, as Helène lifted the cup to take a sip before placing it back again. 

Within half an hour, the cup was empty, but not before Jude had wrestled against every instinctual movement — Helène was subtle in her temptations, a casual stroke of her ribs, a cool breath on her wrist, a brush of knuckles against her stomach as she set the cup down again, tickling, leaving Jude to hold her breath, muscles tight, resolved.

But nothing quite succeeded in rattling her enough to spill. Helène looked up at Jude, a flicker of something like approval behind her eyes. Jude felt a glimmer of pride in the wriggle of her toes, the swell of her chest —

“Well?” she asked.

“Game off,” Jude replied, meekly, “Need the bathroom something fierce.”

Helène laughed, and moved to undo the cuffs. She brought Jude’s hands into her lap, running her fingers over where the leather had chafed slightly, tsking at herself for “not checking the padding, sloppy, _je m’excuse,”_ to which Jude could only nod, head spinning, swinging her legs over the side of the bed as she headed towards the bathroom.  

She took a long moment to examine herself in the mirror as she went to wash her hands. Her hair was mussed, pressed front and back as it had been into bed and pillows, her cheeks red from concentration, skin of her throat flushed from…

Proximity, she realized, to Helène. Something about the woman was absolutely intoxicating. 

She closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath, and shut whatever was threatening to bubble to the surface in some lockbox deep beneath the surface of her ribs. This was good, this was working, and she wouldn’t ruin it for herself by… ruining it.

She needed this. Exactly as it was, whatever the hell it was. Nothing more.

When she returned to bed, Helène had fished out the lotion, rubbing it into Jude’s wrists ever so gently as the television blared on in the background. Jude let loose with complaints about her coworkers, feeling the burden grow lighter, lesser, as Helène’s fingers rubbed into her palms, kneading sore and tired muscle she’d never considered tending to…

“I feel like,” she murmured, at last, “I feel like I should do something for you, too.”

But Helène only replied, _“Tais-toi,”_ and took her other hand to care for. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Jude murmured, settling back, breathing deeply as Helène’s skilled fingers worked months of tension out of her joints.

It was mostly a joke, calling her that.

Mostly.


	5. Cinq

Jude reached for the bottle of Advil on her desk, groaning. The headache crawling behind her eyes threatening to collapse into a migraine, the sinus pressure dense like a dying star… it was almost too much to take, and it was definitely taking its toll on her work. 

With any luck, she could sneak home at lunch and dissolve under her covers until morning, drown herself in green tea and silence —

Her phone buzzed. She glanced down at it, tentative —

\\\Am I seeing you tonight?

Jude bit her lip. 

//I’m actually not feeling so hot. Not really up to anything weird today.  
\\\You’re unwell.  
//Bad headache. Just general gross feeling.   
//Not much fun to be around.  
\\\Come over anyway.  
//Really?  
\\\Tea, soup. Why not?

Jude glanced around the office. Her coworkers were going about their jobs, phones ringing distantly… none of them even looked at her. 

//I was going to leave at lunch.   
\\\Then I’ll be at the hotel at 1:00. 

Jude kept her eyes closed in the elevator all the way up to the seventh floor, practically feeling her way down the hallway until she arrived at Helène’s room. 

She raised her hand to knock, but Helène was already opening the door, slipping her arm around her waist.

“Any better?’

Jude shook her head. Helène rubbed the small of her back, ushering her into the room.

“Tell me about it,” Helène murmured. “Tea?”

“Yes, please.” 

The lamps around were only dimly lit, blessedly, and Jude sighed, flopping back on the bed. Helène lingered by the counter, moving quietly as she poured the tea. 

“I feel all… weird, I dunno. Like there’s a steel mill inside my skull and… I just can’t relax enough for it to fade, and…”

Helène stretched out next to her, pressing a steaming mug into her hands, “Drink.”

Jude took a sip, groaning softly.

“When was the last time you had a nap?”

“A nap? Uh, geez, when I was eight?”

Helène shook her head. “It's important to rest. You're not sleeping enough, are you?”

“Probably not.” 

Helène smiled, wry. 

“It's not the end of the world to let someone take care of you. You don't need to make a joke out of it.” She reached up, tucked a rogue lock of hair behind Jude’s ear. “It's okay to tell me what you need.”

Jude held her gaze for a long time, caught her lip between her teeth —

“Hold me,” said Jude, softly, voice almost splintering from the effort of honesty. 

Helène smiled, running a hand down the back of Jude’s neck as she nodded. She took the now empty mug from Jude’s hands and set it on the nightstand. 

Turning back again, Helène opened her arms. 

Jude curled in, nestling her forehead at the base of her throat, humming softly when Helène ran a hand through her hair, nails scraping lightly over her scalp…

Some history channel program droned on softly in the background, but Jude was too far gone to notice, and in the blink of an eye had drifted off with Helène’s strong arms around her, supported by the swell of her chest, her fingers slowly trailing, caressing…

 

When she woke, night had fallen, and Helène was gone.

Groggy, Jude looked around, yawning. Her eyes fell on the empty mug, and the note taped there: 

_Had to work, sorry. Talk soon. — H_

Jude blinked, something like sadness blooming in her chest, but not quite, not quite hurt — practically, she knew it was Helène’s job, and that whatever they shared was a facet of that work… no, the feeling was something else, and she swept it away, making her way to the bathroom.

Jude considered letting the shower run cold, but let it steam up the room instead, fogging the mirror, obscuring any view of herself when she stepped out to dress again. She'd never admit to herself, slipping out of the room and down the hall towards the elevator, that the feeling was something like envy.


	6. Six

The following Friday, a dim and dismal afternoon that left the city drenched in rain, it was Jude who called Helène, asking her to meet her in the room at their usual time. It had been days since they’d met, their conversations resorting to the written word instead, emails and texts about confusing clients and breathing techniques. 

For a day or two, Jude actually believed she might be content with a simple friendship with Helène, to let their initial meetings drift away as an obscure part of their early history. But Friday was bad enough to change all that, a maelstrom of offhanded sexist remarks and blame games that left Jude fuming helplessly, angry at herself for her own shortcomings and others for the worst facets of her nature that they brought to the surface. 

When Jude swept into the room, kicking the door shut behind her, she noted the surprised look on Helène’s face before it shifted into concern.

“Bad day?”

Jude dropped her briefcase on the bed with a huff. 

“You have no idea. Just… I really need the rough stuff today, you know?”

Helène tilted her head. “I don’t follow.”

“You know,” Jude mimed a smack with the back of her hand. “Really just need to not think about anything.”

Helène’s eyes narrowed. “You want me to hit you.”

“Yeah, you know. Standard stuff, like last time,” Jude ditched her jacket, hands on her hips. “Game on?”

“No.”

Jude frowned. “No?”

“That’s not how this works.”

Jude rolled her eyes. “So when you tied me down the other night —”

“That was about control. I’m not going to cause you pain just because you think you want it. That’s not healthy.”

Jude gawked. 

_“None_ of this is healthy! We barely know each other and we meet in this room and — just — just game on, okay?”

“No.”

Jude groaned, palming her forehead, eyes screwed shut. “Helène, please...”

“You want to know what I think?”

Jude opened her eyes. Helène was standing close, almost pressed against her, looking up into her eyes.

“I think you're hoping I'll say yes because you think you deserve it. That you earned whatever bad things happened today, and this'll be the… penance, _ou quelque chose comme ça.”_

“That's —”

“But more than that,” Helène pressed on, “Deep down, you know what comes after, how good it feels to have someone look after you. I don't think you really want the pain. You want the aftercare. The comfort.”

“I…” she began, weakly, “I don’t, I… c’mon, Helène, game on…”

“No,” said Helène, “No more games, Jude.”

Jude’s breath caught in her chest. Something in the way Helène said her name pulled at the pit of her stomach, the dark in her eyes pooling, endless, heated and soft and —

They crashed together, almost violent, like the waves by Penelope’s house, brash and brazen and beautiful, Jude’s lips clumsy as she dipped her head, seeking out Helène, fingers grasping at her desperately. The shorter woman’s hands slid up her arms, leaning up and anchoring herself solely on those bony shoulders, before pushing Jude down to sit on the edge of the bed.

Jude’s heart pounded, long arms circling around Helène, lost in the point where her jaw met her throat, lips trailing, teeth grazing, breaths only in gasps —

Helène met her eyes — there was a timidity there Jude could never have imagined.

“Do you want this?”

Jude nodded, quickly, swallowing hard. Any rules she'd put in place about distancing herself could catch the first flight directly to hell. How could this be a mistake, when Helène kissed her like sunlight melting snow: slowly, surely, languid and patient, an inevitability at the heart of it all that scorched her lungs, boiling her blood —

Jude tugged at the buttons of Helène’s shirt, pulled until they snapped and skittered across the floor. She wore nothing underneath. Jude groaned.

“Where do you get off,” she muttered, husky, almost incoherent, “Not… like, with your, being all…”

Helène settled into her lap, a quirk of her brow — Jude thought for a moment that she might crack a joke, but Helène only pulled at her shirt, tossing the blouse across the room. Jude reached behind her and undid her bra, shrugging out of the straps, long gangly arms an eternity, thankfully, as she found herself bare under Helène’s inquisitive gaze. 

She couldn’t meet her eyes, arms crossing to cover her chest, to obscure in some foolish way the constellations of freckles projected across the heavens of her skin. Helène tilted her chin upwards with the tips of her fingers. 

She said nothing. Jude was grateful for that, for no awkward attempts at compliment, consolation. She was hungry for this, felt it like embers in the pit of her stomach, stoked in the scorching gaze Helène fixed upon her, and in that heated look she saw that Helène was hungry, too.

She pressed Jude back into the bed, helped her to lay until no part of her dangled off the edge. It was dizzying, the bed, the scent of Helène’s hair, the dimmed lights, the press of her lips as they marked a flagstone path of kisses down her collarbone —

Helène’s lips brushed over a breast, and Jude’s teeth sunk into her lip. 

“We’re really...” Jude muttered, “Oh, god, we’re actually doing this…”

Helène didn’t answer, teeth gently worrying her nipple, palm stroking up her ribs to meet her other breast, catching her skin between her fingers, kneading — Jude squirmed, groaning, hips pressing up, but Helène held her down, firmly. 

“Helène, please —” Jude whispered, almost a whine, almost begging, and she gasped as the woman tore at her pants, growling at the zipper when it fought her until it succumbed, dragging the long trousers down her thighs as she kneeled up on the bed, half crouched like some lioness, before tugging them over Jude’s ankles and tossing them aside. 

Helène looked at her like a three course meal. Jude shivered as she ran her fingertips over the waistband of her boy shorts, letting it snap lightly.

“Tease,” Jude murmured.

Helène raised a brow.

“Never bothered you before,” she replied, languidly, “Did it?”

“No.”

“No?” Helène continued, fingers trailing over the grey fabric, before adjusting course and grazing a nail down her thigh. “No, I think you preferred it.”

Jude swallowed, shifting and angling her thighs to fall open, ever so slightly. Helène smirked. 

_“Regarde toi,_ see? Someone has got to tease, lord knows you don’t have the stamina for it.”

Jude’s eyes fluttered shut as Helène settled on her hips, straddling, her trousers smooth silk against her legs. Her hands were everywhere at once, or else nowhere long enough for Jude to acclimate, her throat, her shoulders, breasts again, thumbs pressing, circling, the pressure building in her stomach, staggering her breath —

But her hands, this time, were free. Jude’s eyes opened, and she met Helène’s gaze, boldly.

“Not this time,” Jude replied, running her hands down Helène’s bare stomach, letting her nails dig, harder than anything Helène had managed on her thus far. 

The growl it drew from the woman’s throat was nothing short of delicious.

Helène bent down and kissed her, hard, tongue flicking over her lower lip. Jude bit down, cheeky, feeling the jolt it sent through Helène’s body, teeth clasping her lip, one hand tangling in Helène’s hair…

“Fuck,” Helène hissed against her lips, and then, quite suddenly, she was gone, leaving Jude’s mouth gaping, eyes opening, glancing down —

 _“Je te besoin,”_ Helène muttered, so soft and coarse and under her breath that Jude wasn’t sure she even realized she’d said it. 

As Jude attempted to piece together what she knew of the language, her thoughts stopped short — Helène was kissing her stomach, tearing at her briefs with one hand, grumbling incoherently against her thigh when the fabric fought her, managing to get them down around Jude’s knees before giving up entirely. Jude kicked, attempting to help, and just as she got them around her ankles Helène held her hips down until she stopped, a heavy lidded gaze punctuating a silent command —

She dipped her head, teeth greeting Jude’s thigh with a mark she’d wear for days, she knew, fingers gripping the sheets as she felt the pads of Helène’s thumbs over her lips, tracing, exploring, exposing —

She squirmed, uncomfortable — nakedness had always intimidated her, and though she was used to Helène’s eyes on her by now, that same intimidation in the face of the intimacy of such a moment could not be repressed. 

Helène froze, lifting her head to meet her eyes, waiting until Jude relaxed again.

“Should I stop?”

Jude shook her head. “No, god no.”

Helène’s brow, furrowed in worry, relaxed as her lips gave way to a smug smile.

“But I should get on with it, _oui?”_

Jude bit her lip, reaching down and threading her fingers in Helène’s hair again, before pressing down lightly.

The meaning of the gesture was unmistakeable, and Helène’s smile broadened into a smirk as she allowed herself to be ushered down, shoulder blades rippling, lion eyes holding Jude’s gaze as she grazed her teeth down her stomach, and over —

Jude arched with a gasp — no wonder they called it _French kissing,_ some distant synapse in her brain provided as Helène’s tongue flicked, strong and sure, and just enough — or, almost just enough, if not quite exactly —

She ground her hips, rough, disjointed, any smoothness of motion she may have held in the past lost in the moment, in the desperation for more contact — she felt Helène chuckle against her, tongue circling her clit just before her lips closed around. 

For a moment, Jude thought the sounds escaping from her lips might disturb the neighboring rooms. Another tug of Helène’s lips drove that thought away, devil may care, and she did what she did best under Helène’s careful touch: let go.

“Helène, fuck,” she whined, “More —”

Helène lifted her lips, the dim light glinting in her eyes, off her lips —

“More, what?” she practically purred, and Jude ran a hand through her own hair, heart pounding.

“Please,” she begged, “More, please, just — fuck me, please —”

Helène reached down and yanked the briefs from around Jude’s ankles before settling between her legs again and lifting a long thigh over her shoulder. If it made Jude feel more exposed, more bare, she didn’t notice — the air brushed against her skin for only a moment before Helène’s mouth was on her again, teeth tugging a lip or grazing over her clit, never painful, or if painful only just enough to send another jolt of slick heat racing through her stomach, into her chest, her lungs heaving —

Helène’s fingers grazed against her, tips pressing — she sucked, lightly, on her clit, just as she began to inch a finger forward, further in —

Jude couldn’t last. For a moment, she considered trying, holding back if only to prolong the sheer _fucking perfection_ of Helène, of her lips and teeth and tongue and fingers — but, no, Helène’s eyes were half shut, gazing at the expanse of her stomach as if settling a site for a palace, and Jude arched, stomach tightening, letting out a quiver of curses as her hand tightened in Helène’s hair, holding on as for dear life, anchoring, spilling over —

She crumpled back into the pillows again, throat dry, gasping, hoarse, pulse stammering and picking up again in double time on every other heartbeat, sparks across her vision whenever she closed her eyes. Helène’s mouth was still working, following her back down to earth, damp fingers against her thigh. 

“Fuck,” Jude sighed, eyes fluttering open as Helène pulled away. 

The woman’s face was flushed, redder than Jude had ever seen another person, as she straddled her hips, desperately clutching at Jude’s hands. Jude, limbs limp, tensed her muscles, forcing them to respond, to place one hand at her breast, kneading, and the other where Helène guided it, between her legs. 

She met Helène’s eyes — or, rather, would have, if the woman’s head hadn’t tipped back in a low moan. Her fingers slipped between her thighs — skimmed, as it were, across soaked skin and flushed heat, biting down hard on her lip as she watched Helène’s abdomen ripple, the pack of muscles in her stomach tensing and releasing when Jude thumbed her nipple —

Helène shifted her weight, impatient. Jude couldn’t help but smile and acquiesce as the woman held her wrist steady — she thrust two fingers, quickly, relished the gasp and groan it pulled from Helène as she rode her hand, hard, shameless, hips rolling, devolving into thrusts as Jude’s thumb found her clit —

Helène braced herself with one hand on the flat of Jude’s stomach, eyes meeting hers. Jude pressed her thumb, curling her fingers, and watched as the woman’s moan became a shout, and she crumbled, shoulders rolling back, the bow of her jaw slung wide —

Jude had never seen anything so beautiful.

She came down rather slowly, as if greedily remaining in some other plane as long as possible. Jude wouldn’t put it past her — but then, nor could she blame her. She didn’t move, not until Helène bent and laid her body down against her, coiling and stretching out again before making a pillow of Jude’s chest. Jude reclaimed her hands, wrapping her arms around her, damp fingers trailing over the small of her back.

Helène lifted her head, brushing her lips against Jude’s jaw. 

“The moment I saw those hands, I knew I’d…” Helène murmured, and Jude snickered a laugh until she was coughing, lungs exhausted, Helène chuckling into her neck.

Jude tilted her lips to meet Helène’s in a long, languid kiss, before pressing her nose into the woman’s hair, breathing deep, eyes drifting shut.


	7. Sept

Jude texted halfway through the next day, curled up in bed while Amelia was out jogging and she was certain she wouldn’t be disturbed.

//We should talk. About last night.  
\\\Agreed.  
//Dinner, maybe?  
//Somewhere quiet.  
\\\The Oak Room, at the Demimonde?  
//Sounds good.  
\\\But you’re… alright, yes? You’d tell me now if you weren’t.

Jude bit her lip, considering half a dozen responses, and finally replied —

//I’m fine. I just want to talk about… what happened.

It wasn’t entirely a lie. She was fine — or, at the very least, she was well enough, keeping whatever feelings gnawed at the pit of her stomach at bay, the tension at the base of her spine, the bridge of her nose, the back of her mind...

Her phone buzzed. 

\\\8:00. I’ll get us a table.  
//See you then.

Jude let her head fall back against the headboard. _Wonder what Penelope will say…_

 

“So… that happened, and now you’re having dinner with her?”   
Jude rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, I’m having dinner with her. I already told you that.”

Penelope and Amelia exchanged a look, definitively schoolgirl in nature.

Jude sighed. “Please, guys, I really… I just really want to look good.”

She bit her lip, as Amelia raised a brow.

“I need to look good.”

Amelia shrugged. “Fair enough. But you don’t really need to worry.”

Penelope nodded. “The dress is great.”

“Totally,” Amelia agreed, “Though I’d have cut it a little lower.”

Penelope scoffed. “Of course _you_ would.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means if you can still see fabric at your collarbone, it’s not low enough for you.”

Amelia gave her a light shove, knocking Penelope against the mirror.

“But what matters is what you think, J,” Amelia added, rubbing her arm. “So?”

Jude looked over the dress, a long, evening gown in black and silver with a slit up one side, almost to her hip. A short slip underneath preserved some amount of delicate dignity, but the curl of lace at the bust remarked on an entirely different set of virtues.

“I like it,” she murmured, “I didn’t think I would, but I like it a lot.”

“Then my work here is done,” Amelia remarked, satisfied. “And Penelope’s can begin.”

“Not pretending to be an expert on hair,” Penelope countered. 

Amelia waved a hand, dismissive. “Please. You’ve worked enough magic in my presence to refute that. Besides, it’s Jude. Simple is good.”

“Thanks,” Jude said, but she was smiling, and the sight of Amelia backtracking to retrace her inadvertent insult into a compliment was more than worth it.

The rest of the preparation process was a blur — she was far too focused on thoughts of Helène to pay any attention to how Penelope tied her hair (a bun, simple, as promised) or pair of low silver heels that carried her down the sidewalk, into a cab, and at last into The Demimonde once again. She was familiar with the hotel, now, even recognized a few of the bellhops and clerks well enough to know them by name. 

As Marcus showed her to a table, she found herself wondering if the dress was too much, if she’d misread the situation… but one look at Helène told her otherwise.

She was in a suit, close cut and pure white. The jacket had no evidence of anything underneath, a revelation that sent a chill up Jude’s spine. The blue carnation from their first meeting was once again tucked into Helène’s buttonhole.

“Well,” said Helène, softly, and something in Jude’s chest swelled at the realization that the other woman was very nearly breathless.

“Well, yourself,” Jude replied, nodding at her suit with an approving smile, “Shall we sit?”

Helène nodded, pulling out Jude’s chair for her before taking her own.

Dinner was a long affair, with cocktails and wine and calamari, delicately whipped pate spread across golden toast, a duck breast to die for… Jude ate, as best she could, picked the rest. 

Helène noticed.

“Are you well?”

Jude nodded, dragging her fork through demi-glace.

“I…” she began, lifting her head to meet Helène’s inquisitive gaze. “Last night.”

Helène nodded, stiffly, glancing around before replying, _“Oui?”_

Jude rolled her eyes. “Speak English, or I won’t be able to focus.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you know the accent is sexy, don’t play.”

Helène tilted her head, smiling. “I thought you liked how I play?”

“I — you know that’s not what I meant, you —” Jude shook her head, “Last night. We…”

“Had sex. Yes.”

Jude lifted her eyes. Helène’s tongue flicked out across her lips. 

“Did you like it?” Helène asked, softly.

Jude swallowed.

“Yeah.”

“Would you like to do it again?”

“I...”

“Hm?” Helène replied, leaning forward, fingertips rolling to tap along her jaw. 

Just as Jude opened her mouth to continue (in words that she, in all honesty, had not entirely decided on yet), the waiter brought dessert — profiteroles and comically small cups of espresso — and began to clear away their plates.

“Anything else, ladies?”

Under the table, Jude felt the toe of a leather shoe running up her bare calf. Jude’s eyes snapped to hers. 

“I — we, uh —”

Helène’s expression remained unchanged, somewhere between smug and content, sipping on an espresso.   
 “Fine,” Jude choked out as Helène’s foot found her thigh, pressing lightly. “We’re fine, thanks, just the check.”

“The check?” Helène asked as the waiter sauntered off with the remains of their dinner. “Are we not having dessert?”

Jude flushed. “I thought you wanted to talk.”

“I do,” Helène replied, brow quirking. “Very much.”

 

_Funny, that,_ Jude thought in the elevator when Helène’s hand found hers, stroking over her wrist. It was when she lifted it to her lips to kiss, eyes casually focused forward, that Jude abandoned any sense of logic, propriety, grabbing her by the lapels of her blazer and tugging the shorter woman against her. Helène wasted no time, hands running up her hips, pressing her against the back wall.

She’d never understand how Helène, half a foot shorter than her, was capable of kissing her so effortlessly, leaning up and tugging her down enough to kiss her, hard, one hand tangling in the back of her hair, shaking the bun loose, running her other hand along Jude’s leg —

The slit in her dress opened, mid-thigh, and Jude’s head tipped back with a groan. Helène kissed along her throat instead, sucking on a spot at the base of her neck where the plateau of her shoulder met sinewy muscle and sturdy bone —

Jude’s hips rolled forward, pushing Helène backward to pin her against another wall, heat searing in her stomach at the inky black of Helène’s widening eyes — delight, she realized, sheer delight at Jude, who bit her lip and leaned in for another kiss. 

She was familiar with Helène’s body, but not like this, not clothed with the heat of her breath so close and coarse on her skin. Jude pressed in, fingers as if searching, hips as if seeking to join them together —

She glanced down. “Ow.”

“Ow?”

“What’s,” she squinted, “In your pocket?”

“Nothing.”

Jude’s head tilted. “Gotta be, cause, I mean —”

Helène ran her hands over Jude’s hips, tugged her in. Something firm jutted out, ever so slightly, nudging almost insistently against her thigh. 

“Not your pocket,” Jude said slowly, realizing, “Jesus Christ, somebody sure thought they knew what was gonna happen tonight.”

“Just a guess. Better to be prepared.”

Jude snorted. “Cocky.”

Helène leaned up and bit Jude’s lower lip, grinding in. 

_“Si tu veux,”_ she murmured, husky, and the meaning of the words was entirely clear. 

Jude sucked in a breath. She hadn’t thought about it. She had, but not like this. Not as something that could really happen, suddenly, this soon. Not like…

...not like Helène kissing her jaw in an elevator and making her forget there was any sort of solid ground to return to. Jude arched closer, a low groan dripping from her lips, tangling their legs until she could press the full length of her body against as much body as the shorter woman had to offer. 

When her hand dipped towards Helène’s belt, the woman tsked. 

“Not here,” she murmured. 

“You came onto me, remember?”

“I know,” Helène reached up and tucked a lock of red hair behind her ear. “And I'm saying not here.” 

Jude frowned, opening her mouth to argue, and shutting it again when Helène ran a hand over her stomach. It was a soothing motion, one that reminded her of so many evenings in Jude’s arms, the warmth of an embrace kinder than acquaintance and without the headaches of attachment —

“Trust me,” Helène insisted, “It'll be better in bed.” 

Breathing hard, Jude nodded, stepping away until her back hit the wall. They rode the rest of the way to the seventh floor in silence, staring at one another, until the doors at last opened, and Helène took off at a brisk pace towards the room. 

It was cute, really, and almost impossibly out of character just how much she fumbled with the keycard — although it may have had something to do with Jude, standing behind her and running her hands over her hips, waist, stomach, kissing along her jaw as her fingers dipped past the lapels of her blazer to find blessedly bare skin —

Helène thrust the card into the slot at last, tearing it out again and kicking the door open, turning on her heel and pulling Jude against her for a desperate kiss. She had this habit of running her tongue over the center of Jude’s bottom lip that made her shiver, moaning, guttural, hungry, against her teeth —

They stumbled towards the bed, attempt after half-hearted attempt to remove any one piece of clothing failing, opening Helène’s jacket and hiking the skirt of Jude’s dress aside, tugging straps down and kicking off shoes before giving up on the idea entirely —

They wound up tangled on the bed, one of Jude’s legs wrapped around Helène’s thigh, the woman propped on an arm and an elbow over her. If Jude shifted her hips just right, she could —

Her teeth sunk into her lower lip. _God bless friction._

“There's a —” Helène began, hoarse. She cleared her throat, “— a right way to do this and —”

Jude shook her head. “Don’t care.”

“No, Jude, really it’s — there's a process so that — that no one gets hurt —”

“Afraid you can't keep up?” Jude purred, scraping her nails down Helène’s bare stomach. 

Helène’s stomach rippled, a thunder of muscles against Jude’s hands, hips jerking forward in an uneven thrust that left Jude breathless, anchoring them together with a hard kiss and a tight fist in the now untidy mop of Helène’s hair. 

“C’mon, _maintenant,”_ Jude muttered, and Helène hissed out a breath, teeth scraping along her jaw. “Please, c’mon…”

Helène murmured something, incoherent, not even English, as Jude flicked the button of her slacks open and dragged her zipper down, awkwardly reaching through the gap in her pants, gripping —

It was more… solid than she’d expected, and smooth, sure, with a texture she hadn’t anticipated, a quiet, _“Huh,”_ escaping her lips, running her hand along, exploring, testing — when she glanced up at Helène again, her expression straddled somewhere between slack jawed and a tension so ironclad Jude was afraid she might snap like a rubber band… she almost giggled, biting her lip.

“What?”

“Nightstand,” Helène said, quickly, throat dry, and Jude obliged, reaching over easily to open the top drawer, “Blue bottle.” 

Jude handed it to her, and Helène popped the cap, quickly, coating fingers, dropping them between their hips —

“Really don’t think I need that,” Jude panted, but Helène shook her head.

“Better safe than sorry,” Helène husked out, almost guttural, and there again was that stern tone in her voice that left Jude breathless, aching —

She touched her, first, before anything else, pinning Jude’s hips down when she wriggled, trying to force her hand — _well, not hand, exactly,_ Jude thought, biting her lip as Helène teased, fingertips dragging roughly, all too slowly, over smooth skin, leaving a slick trail in their wake, almost enough friction to be satisfying and never quite exactly what she wanted —

“God, that’s just _rude,”_ she groaned, “Hurry up —”

“You talk,” Helène muttered, _“So_ much.”

“Then shut me up,” Jude retorted, rolling her hips. 

Helène lifted her eyes briefly, a shade darker than Jude had yet seen, before a thin lipped smile spread across her face.

_“Si tu veux,”_ Helène murmured, languidly, hair tossing over her shoulder like a mane, before dropping her eyes and shifting, angling, as if fishing, knees as if straddling the hull of some sacred ship, jacket hanging open, swaying with every movement of taut arm, with her sure, confident grip, stroking, fingers slick, as if she’d been born with the rod in her hand, hesitating only momentarily, as if —

Jude thrust her hips to meet her, urging, turning her head ever so slightly to greet the hand splayed across her cheek with a kiss, teeth gripping the thumb stretched across her jaw, scraping, arching  —

It didn’t surprise her that Helène tried to go slow. It did surprise her just how quickly she was able to get her to abandon that attempt — a hooked leg running along the length of Helène’s thigh, the flutter of her eyelashes, a soft _oh,_ the red heat burning in her cheeks, the smooth roll of her hips — Helène shuddered, thrust her hips, deep, one arm planted on the bed next to her, leaning down for a bite of her lip, a kiss that rolled like the tide, surging —

It felt _good,_ unexpectedly so, and Jude reveled in it. She’d imagined it, before, on some occasion or other, but always as something she’d concede to, just barely agree to, mostly for the enjoyment of some supplicant, some lover — she glanced up at Helène, and that one look made her shiver. Might’ve been worth it just for the look on her face, even if it wasn’t twisting her insides towards a means to an end — 

Helène looked _lost,_ absolutely elsewhere, somewhere between the scorching heat of heaven and the glistening sweat of hell, lips dipping to kiss along her neck, panting low breaths into her skin like some language Jude hungered to make her new mother tongue — she slid her hand over Helène’s shoulder, back into her hair, gripping suddenly as another roll of her hips brought skin to skin —

“Oh, _merde,”_ Helène murmured, brushing her lips to meet Jude’s, swallowing the high moans dripping from her tongue, drawing out, thrusting to hilt —

“Too —” _good,_ Jude thought, _fast, soon_ — but then, she couldn’t bring herself to care. 

_It’s not as if she wouldn’t go again if I asked…_

That thought sent a shudder rumbling through her stomach, up into her lungs, hand dipping down to tease, circle, knuckles brushing against another stiff thrust, hearing Helène swear, softly against her lips —

“That’s it,” Helène murmured, and Jude shuddered, a shout forming on her lips, half expecting Helène to stifle it with a kiss, leaning up when Helène didn’t move, groaning when the woman pinned her down, “No, no — I want to hear you —”

“Fuck —” Jude moaned, voice pitching a key higher, heel digging into whatever skin she could find, body taut, nudging at her clit with trembling fingers as Helène rolled and dipped and thrust —

She whined, a grating, almost gratified sound, skimming along the edge of satisfaction before a low moaned _“fuck,”_ from Helène’s lips against hers tugged her over the edge, a dead drop that seemed to rival any physical leap, lungs straining as she held her breath —

“Christ,” Jude grunted, sinking back into the bed, Helène collapsed in a heap on top of her. 

“Yeah.”

After a long moment of heavy breaths, Helène wriggled her hips, testing, then slowly withdrew. Jude’s head tilted back, hips arching, as if to prolong — but then Helène was stretched out next to her, cheek resting on the pillow, and Jude rolled onto her side to meet her eyes, cleared her throat —

“Good for you?”

Helène groaned. “You didn’t just say that.”

“Why? It’s a legit question.”

_“Legit,”_ Helène leaned up, waggled one hand into an air quote, “Or not, it’s ridiculous.”

“Why is it ridiculous?” Jude murmured, curling into her body, nuzzling Helène’s jaw, pressing a kiss just under her ear. 

“Because not everyone has —” Helène began, stopping short when Jude’s fingers wrapped around the silicone length still slung between her legs. 

“Go on,” Jude said, casually, as if she were waiting in line at the bank, and not slowly running her fingers down —

Helène drew in a sharp breath.

“Not everyone has to come every time.”

Jude considered for a moment, gripping the base, grinding it down until she felt Helène’s stomach tense, the guttural groan —

“Noted,” Jude replied, smirking, “But this time...”

Jude flicked her wrist, twisting, feeling Helène’s hips jump, an incoherent blend of languages tumbling from her lips with an _“okay,”_ sandwiched somewhere in the middle.

“Tell me what to do,” Jude murmured, “Okay? Cause I’m kinda just, like, guessing here, and I dunno if this is dumb or —”

“Kiss me,” Helène husked, taking hold of her wrist, sliding her fingers over to thread through the gaps of her long fingers, guiding, groaning —

They built a rhythm, slowly, Helène’s steely exterior crumbling like shards of some shattered stained glass, Jude’s unsure grip growing confident under Helène’s direction, her hips grinding, shifting under the silk of her trousers, until Jude frowned —

“W-what?” Helène asked, hoarse.

“Nothing, I…” Jude bit her lip, “I just can’t see anything…”

Helène swallowed, arching with a groan. Jude raised a brow.

“Is that a thing for you? Oh, that… actually totally makes sense with what you do and —”

“Shut up.”

Jude twirled her wrist, “No, you totally get off on it, huh? Being watched?”

_“Tais-toi.”_

“Make m—” Jude began, as Helène growled and cut her off with a kiss, thrusting her hips, grinding and rolling like a wave, threatening at every breath to break and foam against the shore, until Jude flicked her tongue, sighing, and Helène came with a muffled yelp against her lips. 

They laid there for a long time afterwards, half dressed and wholly sated, before Helène spoke up.

“Could use a shower, _non?”_

“Are you saying I smell?”

“Like sweat,” Helène replied, nipping her jaw, peeling herself out of bed and shedding her jacket. 

Jude watched her shoulder blades hungrily as the woman stretched, then climbed out of bed to join her. 

“I'll need help with my zipper,” Jude said, casually, and Helène turned her head, a wry smile —

“I can help with more than that.”


	8. Huit

It wasn’t until the next morning, as Jude lounged on one of the half dozen tufted couches and chairs in Amelia’s widely windowed office, that she realized she had never gotten around to that serious conversation with Helène.

“You didn’t?”

“No, we just…” Jude blushed, picking at her fingers, shifting her weight on the couch. “Um, we kinda ended up having sex again.”

Amelia flicked the page of her report with extra fervor, raising a brow.

“And it was good?”

“Even better than last time,” Jude muttered, “Believe it or not.”

Amelia grinned. “Atta girl.”

Jude rolled her eyes. “But I don’t really know what it means.”

“What exactly happened? Afterwards, I mean.”

Jude closed her eyes, remembering the hot shower that had followed: Helène pressing her wrists against the tiled wall, lips at her throat, thigh grazing her own as it nudged its way between her legs —

“Jude?”

Jude’s eyes snapped open, clearing her throat.

“We, uh, had a shower, and uh… I was kinda falling asleep and she told me she’d text me later.”

“Not call?”

“I don’t like calls,” Jude replied with a frown, “She knows that.” 

“Fair enough,” Amelia replied, leaning back in her chair. “Do you know what you want from her?”  Jude shrugged. “I like her. More than I thought I would.”

“And you want to be with her.”

Jude bit her lip, nodded. Amelia drew in a deep breath.

“But you don’t know if she feels the same way.”

Jude nodded again, sheepish. 

“You know I like casual hook-ups as much as the next career obsessed millennial,” Amelia began, leaning in, “But if you feel something more, you gotta figure that shit out. Otherwise it’s just gonna eat at you.”

She paused, leaning forward, lacing her fingers under her chin. 

“So invite her to Pen’s wedding. That’s a grown-up kind of date.”

Jude sat up. “You really think I should? Isn’t that… kinda risky, something that personal that soon?”

Amelia shrugged. “Only live once. Can’t know if it’s a mistake unless you do it.”

 

She waited until she got home again (after a few glasses of wine) to call Helène. The Frenchwoman was, unsurprisingly, surprised.

“Are you alright?”

Something at the base of Jude’s throat twinged at the perceptible concern in Helène’s voice. She smiled, biting her lip —    
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I just… I had a question for you and… I thought it’d be better if I asked you like… over the phone instead.”

There was a long pause as Jude steeled herself, before Helène prodded, “Well?”

“Penelope, my friend Penelope, you remember? She’s, uh, she’s getting married and… I was wondering if maybe… you’d like to go with me?”

“To a wedding?”

Jude’s heart sank. “Yeah, like… um… like a… like a date.”

Helène hardly skipped a beat. “I can’t really talk right now. I’ll have to get back to you.”

“It’s next weekend, I know it’s short notice but… um…”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Okay.”

Another long pause. 

“How have you —”

“I really have to go, _désolée._ Work.”

“O-okay.”

_“A bientot.”_

“Yeah, a bien—” but the line had already gone dead.

 

“And she hung up on you? Really?”

“Really,” Jude replied, fluffing up the train of Penelope’s dress. “And I haven’t heard from her since. So. That’s that, I guess.”

“That’s quittin’ talk,” Amelia replied, buttoning the last button of her vest and pulling on her jacket. “And I won’t have it. You don’t know anything until she tells you. ”

“She hung up on me and hasn’t texted me since. No calls, no emails, no sex, no… anything else.”

“Can’t believe sex isn’t the ‘anything else’,” Amelia muttered to Penelope, who giggled.

“Stop that,” Jude hissed, “This isn’t funny, it… it really hurts.”

Amelia dropped her eyes to the ground, fumbling with her tie. Penelope reached out for Jude, pulling her into a tight hug. Jude buried her nose in Penelope’s neck, before drawing back.

“I’m gonna, like, cry all over your dress if you —”

“If not her,” Penelope insisted, squeezing her tight, “Then someone else.”

“I know,” Jude replied, softly, “But I really wanted it to be her.” 

Amelia sighed, glancing at Penelope, who released Jude, holding her at arm’s length.

“But this is your day,” Jude blurted out, quickly, “And I’m… I’m just going to go sit, and we’ll… yeah, good luck up there,” 

She leaned in and pecked Penelope quickly on the cheek before darting for the door. 

Amelia tsked.

“That’s…”

“Yeah,” Penelope sighed, “Yeah, it is.”

They stood in silence for the space of a long breath, before Amelia turned to Penelope, bouquet in hand. 

“Well,” said Amelia, offering the bouquet to Penelope, who took the bundle of day lilies with a smile. “How about we get you good and married, huh?”

“Yeah,” Penelope replied, smiling, “And then you can punch your French friend right in the kisser for me.”

Amelia chuckled. “We’ll see about that.”

 

Jude turned the corner, making her way towards the courtyard where the ceremony was set to take place, and stopped short when she ran smack dab into a solid mass of body, knocking her to the ground.

“Oof, fuck,” Jude groaned, rubbing the back of her head. The other half of the collision stood over her, eclipsing the sun. She bent down — Jude blinked.

“Helène?”

It really was her — in a black suit, crisp and clean and tailored to fit, with a white carnation peeking out of her collar and polished oxfords gleaming in the late afternoon light.

She looked entirely perfect, and in that moment, entirely penitent.

“I’m sorry, Jude, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She reached down, helping her to stand. Jude noticed with a quiet, hopeful delight that Helène kept her hold on her arm even after she’d stood. 

“Didn’t think you’d come.”

Helène looked at the ground.

“I almost didn’t.”  
 Jude blinked. From somewhere not far off, an organ began to play. She shook her head, quickly, as if shaking off some shroud —

“I can’t do this right now, Helène, I — Penelope’s getting married and I… I gotta be there and…”

“I know. I came to escort you.”

Jude blinked.

“Escort me.”

_“Oui.”_

“Nobody really… talks like that anymore, or didn’t they send that message overseas?”

“Hush,” Helène replied, clicking her tongue. 

She offered her arm. Jude looked at it, biting her lip, before slipping her hand around Helène’s arm and leading her into the courtyard.

 

The ceremony drifted by like a quiet creek, peaceful, beautiful. Penelope kissed her husband, and Amelia wolf whistled from her left in a way that had the entire crowd practically rolling in the gardens. 

The reception was held in the next building over, a large hall scattered with tables and bartenders, surrounding a tiled dance floor. The jazz band began kicking up into full swing just as Jude downed her third drink. 

Helène sat by her side, patient, the entire time, until Jude raised her hand for another drink. Her brow furrowed —

“Jude?”

Jude looked at her, chewing on her cheek, exhaling sharply through her nose. 

“I know. We should talk.”

Helène nodded, squeezing her arm. Jude swallowed.

“You hurt me,” she continued, quietly, “You walked out and you left me alone and you… I just wanted to take you out somewhere where we could get to know each other, with the people that mean the most to me —”

“At a wedding,” Helène interrupted, “It’s… it’s a serious date it… it means something to some people.”

“So?”

“So,” Helène bit her lip, “I… I wasn’t sure I was ready for this to mean something.”

Jude sat back in her chair.  Helène looked positively torn, somewhere between turmoil and the desire to express something entirely unexplainable. 

“Did you make up your mind? I mean, you’re here, and… if you came all this way and got dressed up just to end this that’s kind of a dick move.”

Helène stood, slowly, offering her hand. Jude tilted her head until Helène gestured with her arm, eyes serious, unwavering. 

Jude took her hand, and let Helène lead her out to the floor. 

They circled to the swing of the jazz crooning from the band, Helène holding her close by the small of her back. Jude breathed in deep, the smell of juniper and musk wafting from Helène’s hair —

“I missed you,” Jude murmured.  

“I know,” Helène replied, leaning up, kissing her softly on the cheek. “I shouldn’t have left.”

Jude turned her head until their lips brushed, pressing in close. If anyone on the dance floor noticed their movement stop entirely, no one said a word. 

_“Viens,”_ Jude murmured, “I know somewhere we can go.”


	9. Neuf

The ride to Helène’s apartment took less time than she thought it would. The building was tall, a post-war faux-colonial with doric columns and wrought iron fencing. 

Helène seemed to ignore it all entirely, walking up to the front gate and unlocking it, arm still twined in Jude’s. Jude followed, taking it all in, as Helène led her up the stairs to a quaint little landing, and opened the door to her apartment.

It was small, little more than a studio with a separate kitchen, a cozy bed in the corner of the room, and a few paintings framed on the walls, a few sculptures —

“This is your place?”    


Helène nodded. “It’s yours, now.”

“Huh?”

Helène tossed her keys on the bedside table, unbuttoning her jacket and hanging it on a nearby peg. 

“Mine?”

Helène sat on the edge of the bed, and Jude joined her. 

“The work that I do… it doesn’t lend well to relationships. Jealousy, spite… it’s tough. And unavoidable. I always thought I couldn’t have both, and I think I was right.”

Jude shifted, uncomfortable. “I don’t want you to feel like you gotta leave your —”

Helène waved her hand. “I have a dozen other interests. Let them be my source of income, now. I think…”

She glanced up at Jude.

“I think I was always looking for that. In my  work. A partnership, you know? Someone who wouldn’t just let me… walk all over them.”

“Well, I kinda did.”

“No, you pushed for… for something real. With all the rest, when you had it easy, still you pushed.”

Jude bit her lip, leaning in for a kiss, but Helène pressed her hand to her lips, nudging her away.

 _“Attends,_ let me finish, or I… I’ll kiss you the rest of the night and I won’t ever say what I need to say.”

Jude nodded. Helène drew in a shaky breath, exhaling, forehead pressed to the arch of Jude’s shoulder. 

“There’s an imbalance, between us. I’ve had all the say and you’ve followed, and… we should even it out, start this… thing between us on an even footing. Let you have the lead, however much you want, for however long you want it.”   


Jude fidgeted. “You mean — like, bedwise.”

Helène laughed. “Yes, like, bedwise.”

Jude glanced around the room. “I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“You wouldn’t?” Helène raised a brow. “I find that a little hard to believe. You’ve never even thought about it?”

Jude cocked her brow. 

“Okay, I’ve thought about it. Doesn’t mean I’ll be any good.”

“I think you’re capable of more than you know,” Helène murmured laying back on the bed. 

Jude moved in tandem, stretching out on top of her. She leaned in, close enough to kiss, before just stopping short, long fingers tangling in Helène’s hair.

“Is this what you want? Me, like this?”

Helène nodded, the softest of breaths pouring from her lips as she murmured, “I’m all yours. I’m in it, now, _vraiment.”_

“Not just because you feel you owe me something,” Jude pressed, running a hand down her side, chest swelling when she felt Helène press up against her, “You really want this?”

“Yes,” said Helène softly. “I want you.”

Jude looked around the room. There were an assortment of chests near the edge of the bed, and Jude stood, wandering from one to the other. 

“Get undressed, while I look around.”

Helène smiled, nodding, a brightness in her eyes that stoked a hunger in Jude’s stomach as she began unbuttoning her shirt. 

The chests were chock full of… accoutrements, most of which Jude had never seen before in her life. After some digging, she found a pair of cuffs, and she shrugged, turning back towards the bed just as Helène’s shirt fell away.

“On your tum,” Jude murmured, and Helène complied, hair flowing out against the pillow.

Jude joined her on the bed again, quickly and quietly fastening her to the wrought iron headboard. She ran a hand down Helène’s spine, feeling the woman shiver under her touch.

“Just relax,” Jude murmured, massaging along her back.

Helène sighed, letting out a low groan as Jude massaged down along her hips, running her hands over her thighs, laughing as Helène wriggled.

“Lay still — God, you’re the worst at this.”

Helène turned her head, sticking out her tongue. 

“Better than you, when you started.”

“Maybe,” Jude replied, scratching her chin, “But that’s ‘cause you want this more badly than you can say, isn’t it.”

Helène bit her lip. Jude reached up, threading her hand in Helène’s hair, tugging back as she leaned down, lips brushing along her ear.

“Isn’t it?” 

_“Oui,”_ Helène murmured, hoarse.

Jude sat back, gently scraping her nails down Helène’s back.

“I want to know about your work. What you do.”

“Did.”

“Okay. Did, then, you…” Jude pressed her hands into the small of her back, “Did you sleep with any of them?”

“Only if I wanted to. Outside of work, never for money. Health code policy and…” Helène shook her head, “And it wasn’t for me to charge for it.”

Jude nodded, quiet for a long moment, “I just… I don’t want you to regret leaving what you do for me.”

“I’m not leaving for you,” Helène replied, “I’m leaving for me.”

Jude smiled, running her hand up her back, feeling Helène arch under her touch.

“What would you like from me?” 

When Helène didn’t reply, Jude leaned down and kissed between her shoulder blades. 

“Whatever you want.”

“And what if I want to turn you over and tease you until you can’t hardly take it?”

Helène’s breath caught, exhaling slowly, turning her head slightly, eyes dark, to meet Jude’s gaze.

“Then that’s what I want.”

Jude reached up, working the cuffs until she was able to turn Helène onto her back before securing her again, leaving her restrained, breathless. She bent, slowly, indulged in a long, slow kiss, before sitting back again between her legs, running her hands over Helène’s calves.

“I, uh… I’ve never… gone down on anyone before.”

“No?”

“No. But I… I want to. With you… I’m just… I’m nervous and…”

“Everyone has a first time for everything, you know.”

“Yeah, but… you’re so good at everything and… and I don’t want to embarrass myself.”

“Trust me,” Helène replied, licking her lips. “I won’t laugh.”

There was something in Helène’s eyes at that, a promise of some future delight that made Jude shiver.

“Guess it couldn’t hurt to try, right?” murmured Jude, leaning down close. 

Helène nodded, leaning up with the cuffs still around her wrist. Jude pressed down on the flat of her chest until her head hit the pillows again.

“Still my night, Helène. Still my rules.”

Helène nodded as Jude situated herself over Helène’s stomach, pressing kisses, lower, feeling a warm coil of want snake through the pit of her stomach when Helène’s muscles rippled.

“God, that’s hot,” Jude murmured, dragging a nail over her abs, and Helène arched. “Impatient, huh?”

“Casse-toi,” Helène muttered, arching, and Jude replied by smacking her thigh.

The slap was gentle, too gentle to be loud. The moan, however, rang out crisp and clear, almost echoing through the apartment, rumbling through Helène’s chest —

“Fuck,” Jude whispered, dipping her head, because how could she not reward such a sound, when Helène was lifting a leg, bending it to crook over her shoulder, tugging her close —

“Needy,” Jude murmured into her thigh, pressing a kiss, teeth scraping up, “And demanding, and…”

Helène’s leg tightened, then relaxed, a low shudder — 

“Jude, please…”

Perhaps it was the sound of her name on Helène’s tongue, or the way Helène’s thighs quivered when Jude ran her hands over her skin — and in all fairness, for a long moment Jude hesitated, trying to maintain some semblance of control… 

… before she gave in entirely, gave in to the pounding of her heart, the to the ripple of her shoulder blades as she bent down, closing her eyes —

The room was distant, with her eyes shut, nothing but the soft sound of Helène’s breathing, the distant tick of a clock. She kissed, tentative, against the skin under her lips, flicking her tongue —

 _“Merde,”_ Helène sighed.

Jude smiled, drawing in a breath, stroking along the thigh crooked over her shoulder as she ran her tongue up, nipped a lip. Helène moaned, deep, rolling her hips, and Jude gave up on holding her down, let Helène guide her mouth with the dig of her heel, the squeeze of her thighs —

Something dripped onto her arm, and she tugged back, embarrassed.

“I’ve heard of drooling all over someone,” Jude muttered, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand, “But —”

But Helène was shaking her head, biceps rippling as she tugged at the restraints, legs holding Jude in place.

 _“Non,_ that’s me, not you, it’s —” Helène cleared her throat, a few incoherent words, another shake of her head, “Don’t stop —”

Jude shivered, lowering her head again, and didn’t stop until Helène was growling, arching against her mouth, eyes screwed shut. Jude’s mind was swimming, trying desperately to remember what Helène had done, nudging at Helène’s clit with her tongue… 

The growl became a high, surprised whine. Almost pitiful. Jude took that as a good sign, repeated the motion —

“Hands, too,” Helène choked out, head tilted back, the strong column of her throat working as she swallowed, “Please, I —”

Jude bit her lip. 

“Please, what?”

Helène groaned, arching.

“Please, Jude…”

Jude’s fingertips teased, just barely grazing slick heat, soft skin, her other hand pressing Helène’s stomach down, keeping her steady against the covers.

“Not quite…” Jude murmured, “Try again.”

When Helène didn’t reply, Jude stroked down her stomach, over her thigh, and smacked her again.

Helène let out a low moan. “Please, sir —”

Jude raised a brow. “Sir?”

“Sir, ma’am, whatever, just,” Helène let out a shuddery breath, whole body shaking, scowling “Just — just _touch_ me, you _tease.”_

Jude settled her lips low again, looking up at Helène.

“Sir’s okay,” Jude murmured, finger curling with a gentle thrust, tongue flicking out, “Kinda like it.” 

Helène’s eyes widened, but her voice couldn’t manage much — and then again, Jude couldn’t blame her, not with the low light surrounding them, and the deep quiet of the apartment echoing now with her moans, when Jude could look up and fix her eyes on her, watching, slipping another finger to thrust, curling, devouring… 

Helène held her eyes for three, four, a half dozen thrusts before her head tipped back, a loud clang of the headboard thudding against the wall as her arms tugged at the cuffs, thighs tightening around Jude’s head, thrusting against her mouth with a shout, a low moan, collapsing against the pillows and relaxing at last.

“Fuck,” Helène sighed, “Jesus, fuck.”

Jude lifted her head, licking her lips as she crawled up her body, undoing the cuffs. Helène threaded her hands in her hair, tugging her down to kiss, long, languid —

“So,” Jude murmured, “Sir, huh?”

Helène’s cheeks tinted, a faint blush masked in sweat and another shuddered breath.

“It’s… _je ne sais quoi.”_

“Leftovers? From a past lover?”

_“Non.”_

“Client?”

“No,” said Helène, firmly, “No, that’s just for you.”

“Makes me sound like…” Jude smiled, nuzzling at her jaw, “Like a sea captain, or something.”

“Roleplaying’s for another time,”  Helène replied, smirking, “For now…”

Helène nipped Jude’s lip, flicking her tongue, then tugging her hair sharply, exposing her throat enough to leave a purple mark at the base of her neck. Jude groaned, squirming in her arms, nails digging into whatever flesh they could find purchase in.

“It’s you I want,” she murmured, hand drifting down over Jude’s stomach, between her thighs. “Only you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys if you want an epilogue i might do an epilogue let me know
> 
> i'm thinking a little halloween scene? with top!Jude


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